Rabanadas
A traditional Portuguese dessert that’ll warm your heart. Pour yourself a glass of Port wine and get cooking (just make sure to save some wine for the recipe!).
Cooking with my Portuguese husband, Cristiano, is always a joy. It’s something we do frequently. We work well together inside and outside of the kitchen. More often than not, unlike this specific experience of making rabanadas together, we are searching for ways to experience some cultural hybridity in our dishes. Last Thanksgiving, for instance, feeling sad to be away from my family and out of the states for the holiday, the two of us cooked a full Thanksgiving meal for Cristiano’s family. While we made many of my family’s staples, we had to put a Portuguese twist on it! We cooked our turkey in a glorious Port wine bath, and it turned out delicious. This fall, we will both be in the United States for the holiday, and we are absolutely planning to douse the turkey once again in Port wine for my family. Joining Portuguese and American culture through our cuisine and food creations is such a lovely way to experience one another’s cultures, while simultaneously being representative of our union. In this recipe, however, it’s all about Cristiano and his Portuguese culture. In our little kitchen in Northern Portugal, the walls covered in traditional Portuguese “azulejo” tiles, we ventured to make one of his favorite Portuguese childhood desserts, the recipe a product of his grandfather — rabanadas. The star of the dish? The decadent Port Wine reduction drizzled on top. As the toast sat in a pan frying and the reduction simmered on the stove, the kitchen filling with a cloud of smoke, the two of us conversed on the history of rabanadas, and most importantly, his personal connection to the dessert.
Rabanadas began centuries ago in the midst of the Catholic holiday, Lent. Since many gave up meat, Portuguese Catholics found themselves eating more bread. As a result, rabanadas were born from an effort to preserve and make use of all the bread, stale and fresh alike. Now, in our present day, Cristiano and most other Portuguese people associate rabanadas with Christmas. As we waited for the bread to fry on the stove, Cristiano explained to me that he grew up eating rabanadas as a Christmas dessert, something that was often accompanied by a glass of Port wine. The sweet toast elicits nostalgia for him as it brings him back to times as a child when his whole family joined together to celebrate the holidays.
You may notice that French toast and rabanadas seem suspiciously similar. In fact, rabanadas are sometimes referred to as “Portuguese French toast.” According to Google, both of these sweet toasts seemed to have popped up during the same period in history, sometime around the fifteenth or sixteenth century. While no one knows if the idea originated with the French or the Portuguese, more likely than not, they influenced each other. Through cultural transmission and perhaps even cultural hybridity, soldiers, nobles, and others traveling between the two countries likely led each culture to influence the other, mirroring Appadarai’s ideas about the ethnoscape. Still, there are some differences. To name just a few disparities, the way rabanadas are cooked, the type of bread used, and other methods of preparation set them apart. Of course, the most important difference between rabanadas and French toast is the Port wine reduction. Though don’t be fooled for a moment — Port wine is a major import in France and has become an integral part of French culture for many!
The trouble with family recipes like this one is that there’s rarely a written copy of it. When you try to ask a family member to relay it verbally so you can jot it all down, there’s a lot of, “Just a pinch of this. And a pinch of that. And give it a taste it to see if it’s just right.” So when tasked with recording my husband’s grandfather’s recipe for rabanadas, it was initially a challenge. For most of the ingredients, I will attempt to provide an estimate of the quantities. In the final recipe below, you’ll see “to taste” more than once. As Cristiano’s grandfather pointed out, there really is no better way to know if something is perfect for you than to just taste it! While the basic flavors will remain the same, the level of the reduction’s sweetness, or even its thickness, is up to you. Similarly, toppings are ultimately your choice — except for that decadent Port wine reduction. You aren’t allowed to make rabanadas without it!
We topped our rabanadas with raspberries and blueberries since they’re in season. I highly recommend nuts if you’re looking to add some crunch to the dish. Personally, I think walnuts and/or hazelnuts work best. Regardless of what you top your dessert with, the Port wine reduction is going to be the center of this dish. Syrupy, smooth, sweet, and woody, it’s the perfect concoction to drizzle on top.
The bread is important. You want it to be stale. Really, really stale. The staler, the better because it’ll be able to soak up more of that cooked cinnamon milk without dissolving. Traditionally, rabanadas are made with a Portuguese bread called “cacete,” which literally translates to “baton.” It is extremely dense and, once stale, is reminiscent of a brick. Its capacity for water retention is unmatched. Unfortunately, this traditional bread is only found around the holidays, so any stale white bread will suffice in the off-season. Brioche bread is a great alternative.
So, hopefully you have some stale bread sitting in your kitchen. If not, go buy some white bread, and I’ll see you back here in a week or so! When you’re ready, grab your Port wine, and get cooking. And don’t forget to pour yourself a glass of Port while you cook. I promise it’ll make your experience so much more fun.
The Rabanadas
This recipe will make about 5 rabanadas. This is a decadent, rich dessert… just one rabanada will be enough for you, I promise.
The Toast
Start by adding your milk, cinnamon, brown sugar (start with about ¼ cup and add more to taste), and a couple of lemon peels to a pot wide enough to accommodate one slice of bread. Heat it up without bringing it to a boil and simmer while mixing every now and then, for 5 minutes.
While the milk is simmering, crack 3 eggs in a bowl and whisk them. Pour them onto a somewhat concave plate.
Going back to the pot with the milk, remove the lemon peels, set aside the mixture, and allow it to cool down.
Put a frying pan with a little bit of butter on the stove and set it to low. If you have a deep fryer and vegetable oil, that will spare you a couple of headaches — particularly in cases where the bread is not stale enough and is beginning to fall apart (as ours was).
Once the milk is lukewarm, dip your stale bread in the milk on both sides. The bread should be extremely rigid/tough. The harder the bread, the longer you should let it sit in the milk. Do not let it get too soggy. Then proceed to dip it in the egg mixture, and quickly but gently move it to the frying pan.
Fry each side for around 2 minutes or until golden brown. Gently shake the pan for more even browning. You want to ensure the Maillard reaction takes place, and you want it to be even.
Set your rabanadas aside on some kitchen towels to rid them of any excess butter/oil.
The Port Wine Reduction
Grab a sauce pot and add a chunk of butter to it (about 3 tablespoons should suffice). Set it to medium heat and mix it until you are left with brown butter. Be careful not to let it burn. Once it starts to brown, pour in about half a cup of port wine (Tawny works best because it provides a woody note, though I don’t suggest using your best bottle of Port for this recipe — cheaper bottle will suffice), half a cup of water, and brown sugar to taste (start with about ¼ cup; alternatively, you can replace the sugar with a dollop of honey). Reduce the sauce until it has achieved a somewhat sticky, syrupy consistency, like that of honey. Some prefer a lighter, more liquidy sauce. In which case, use less of everything, more water, and do not allow it to reduce too much.
Pour the reduction all over your rabanadas and add seasonal fruits and nuts to taste. Perhaps even a very small pinch of fleur de sel, to intensify some of the notes of the sauce. Portuguese people generally eat them as is, with just the reduction, brown sugar, and cinnamon, but more modern interpretations of the recipe call for seasonal fruits to cut through the richness of the traditional rabanada!
